


Offstage

by firstlightofeos



Category: H.M.S. Pinafore
Genre: Crack, Gen, Gilbert and Sullivan, Humor, Meta, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing ever stays the same on the H.M.S. Pinafore. In which Josephine is a gymnast, Captain Corcoran plays the electric guitar, Sir Joseph is very drunk, and general mayhem and madness abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offstage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a caramel macchiato](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=a+caramel+macchiato).



> Written for Yuletide 2009.
> 
> In its most fundamental terms, this is a study of what happens to the actual characters in a popular theatrical production, trying to provide an answer to the question of what actors are drawing on when they inhabit a character during a performance. Slightly cracky, very meta.
> 
> Some credit to Jasper Fforde and his idea of what happens within a book when it is being read, as detailed in his Thursday Next novels.

'Josephine? Josephine, where are you?' Ralph looked around the deck as he climbed aboard the ship, surprised to see it empty.

'I'm here,' she trilled, her voice floating down from above him. Shading his eyes, he looked up to see his—wife? Unrequited love interest? Requited love interest with a rich fiancé? He couldn't remember where in the play they were, and anyway, it was likely that the two of them were at different points—standing in the Crow's Nest, telescope in hand. He stared.

'What in Queen Victoria's name are you _wearing_?'

She looked down at herself, plucking at the form-hugging silver material.

'Oh, this?' she asked flippantly. 'They're doing another production in outer space. This is apparently what I'd wear on the spaceship _H.M.S. Pinafore_.' She started climbing down; when she was about five feet above the ground, she catapulted herself off the mast, performing a triple backflip before she landed on the deck with a wide grin. 'The girl playing me is a gymnast.'

'Well, while you get to explore love whilst exploring foreign moons, I'm stuck with traditional this time,' Ralph responded morosely, fiddling with his ruffled sleeves.

'You're already captain, then?' Josephine asked, coming over and adjusting the chain of his pocket-watch.

'Dress rehearsal just ended. You?'

She indicated the sky, which had just gone dark. 'Second act just began, I'm about to—' She broke off, looking up at the moon that had appeared above them. She seemed distracted, as if she were listening to something that he couldn't hear. Suddenly, she started to sing.

'_The hours creep on apace_...'

'Oh, Lord, I never liked that song.' A portly man wearing an army uniform emerged from belowdecks, his face covered with the evidence of kisses from someone wearing bright red lipstick. 'Always had to stand in back while the girl singing went up to a ridiculously high note—like that,' he said, wincing as Josephine's high B-flat went a little too high.

'At least you didn't have her singing it in your ear,' Ralph replied. 'The finale, ugh.' He shuddered.

'I suppose,' the other man replied, reaching over to pick up the electric guitar lying abandoned on the deck. He strummed it absent-mindedly, seemingly unaware that the chords booming out of the amplifier clashed horribly with the notes Josephine was singing.

Ralph straightened abruptly. 'Corcoran, three paces to the front; march!' he said curtly to the man playing the guitar. He shook his head. He hadn't intended to say that—it felt like someone else had taken over his body and was saying and doing things without his consent.

'My performance is over,' the man playing the guitar said absently, evidently unfazed. 'Can't make me listen to your orders. I start as captain, anyway, so when the show ends, we're back to where we started.'

Ralph crossed his arms defiantly. 'That is most definitely untrue.'

'You don't know that. We're in the in-between state. We're whatever we want to be.'

Ralph sighed. 'I hate this limbo.'

'No, you don't.' A large, busty woman came up from where Corcoran had emerged, her enormous bustle swaying dangerously as she bent over to peck the former Captain on the cheek. 'Because in this limbo, you can have your cake—' she wrapped her arms around Corcoran, her hands moving lower and lower—'and eat it, too.' Corcoran squeaked, his guitar producing a most unpleasant sound as he dropped it and whirled around to kiss the woman.

'Harlot,' a gruff voice rumbled from the shadows. 'Little Buttercup, hah! Nothing sweet and innocent about you.' A distinctly three-cornered man lumbered forward, frowning disapprovingly.

'Dick Deadeye, when will you stop lurking in corners?' Buttercup replied, pulling away from Corcoran long enough to flash a rude gesture at the newcomer.

'When, er, there's good reason to stop,' the Bos'n replied, emerging behind Dick Deadeye, looking somewhat the worse for the wear. His clothes—which seemed to be made of the same silvery material as Josephine's—were dishevelled, his whistle hanging backwards. He hurriedly buckled the belt that held his laser gun.

'Oh, that is _disgusting_,' a woman wearing a flapper's outfit said as she climbed aboard. 'What?' she asked, as everyone on deck stared at her. She looked down. 'Oh, right. No ship this time; the _Pinafore_'s a speakeasy.' The others continued to stare. 'Nightclub where people could get alcohol after it was outlawed in America during the 1920s?'

'Your show's _American_?' Deadeye asked. They all shuddered.

'The accents,' Ralph groaned.

'The _boorishness_,' Josephine added, walking over.

'Finished your diva moment, then?' the flapper asked.

'I don't see how that's relevant to you,' Josephine replied coldly. 'Obviously, you don't have enough talent to be me, so you might want to stop being bitter about being third-rate. Even Hebe has more respect than you.'

'I take offense at that,' the woman huffed. 'At least I don't shamefully throw myself after my cousin—'

'He's your _nephew_!' Josephine snapped. 'How is that any better?'

'I don't throw myself at him when he's just been rejected by you, you hussy!'

'_What_ did you call me?'

'You heard me—slut.'

'Oh, you did _not_—' Josephine launched herself at the other woman.

'I take offense at that,' Buttercup said mildly. '_I'm_ the slut on this ship.'

'You're _my_ slut,' Corcoran replied fondly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. Buttercup smiled and the two started kissing again, leading to choruses of 'Ugh!' and 'Get a _room_!' from those surrounding them. Josephine and the other woman continued their attempts to pummel each other, now rolling around on the deck and pulling each other's hair.

'What I wouldn't give for a bowl of popcorn right now,' the Bos'n murmured.

'I, er, think this might be better than popcorn,' the Carpenter's Mate replied, appearing from behind the mast. He shifted uncomfortably.

'Shouldn't...someone stop them?' Ralph asked, somewhat worriedly, though he did agree somewhat with the Carpenter's Mate.

'You've got nothing to worry about, your girl's pummeling the aunt.'

Ralph had to admit this was true. Evidently, the actress playing the aunt was not a gymnast like the one playing Josephine. The aunt was, however, fully capable of shrieking her head off and seemed to have fairly long and sharp nails, if Josephine's retaliatory screams of 'You bitch, you drew blood!' and '_OUCH_!' were anything to go by.

When Josephine stopped slapping and started to punch, however, both Ralph and Corcoran recognised that things had gone on long enough. They stepped forward and parted the women, Ralph restraining Josephine and Corcoran holding back the nameless aunt. Josephine tossed her hair defiantly as the flapper adjusted her dress.

'Don't you _dare_ call me a—a—that word again,' Josephine said haughtily. 'I am the daughter of a captain of a ship in Her Majesty the Queen's service, and you will address me as such.'

'She still thinks you're the captain?' Deadeye asked Corcoran, a confused look on his face.

'She's still in Act Two,' the other man replied, grunting as he held the flapper tighter. Suddenly, a loud male voice cut into the conversation, rising from belowdecks.

'_A British tar is a soaring soul, as free as a mountain biiiiiiird..._'

'Oh, bollocks, he's drunk again,' the Bos'n muttered.

'As long as this one's not as handsy as some of the others, I couldn't care less,' Josephine replied, looking obviously uncomfortable. She twisted against Ralph's grip. 'Ralph, let me go. I have "Carefully on Tiptoe Stealing" in two minutes.' He turned her to face him, carefully examining her expression. She sighed. 'I'm not going to attack her again, I promise.'

'Fine,' he said, releasing her arms. 'Just remember that you promised.'

'Thank you, darling.' She reached up and pressed a brief kiss to his lips before running off to the other side of the ship.

A tall man emerged. His large admiral's hat was skewed to one side, his pocket watch was dangling aimlessly, and his clothes looked dishevelled and a little stained. In his left hand, he carried a decanter of whiskey, while his right hand gripped the banister for dear life.

'I am the monarch of the sea!' he proclaimed, raising his decanter and stumbling forward. The men all rushed forward to keep him from falling, and slowly helped him move beyond the stairs, at which point he collapsed.

'Joseph, my dear!' a blonde woman dressed like a 1950s housewife rushed forward and knelt by him, seeming to appear from nowhere. 'What happened?'

'It should be obvious,' the flapper aunt, now released, sniffed. 'He got drunk. What kind of wife are you, Hebe?'

'Better wife than you'd ever be,' Hebe shot back. 'Or your daughter.' For a second, it looked as if the women would attack each other, but a moan from Sir Joseph Porter, ruler of the queen's navee, drew everyone's attention.

'I am a failure!' he wailed before taking a large swig of whiskey. 'An enormous, ridiculous, horrid _failure_!'

'Now, now, Joseph, that's not true,' Hebe shushed him, smoothing his hair. 'You're wonderful.'

'No, no, no no no no no,' he uttered, rocking back and forth. 'I was rejected by my love'—Hebe huffed at this—'and I was forced to marry my _cousin_, and I can't even go on a ship without getting seasick, and I _forgot all my lines_!' He began to sob loudly, tears rolling down his face as he hugged himself.

'Oh, God,' Deadeye said, rolling his eyes. He began to wander off. 'Call me if anything interesting happens. Or don't. Don't matter, none of you like me anyway.'

'True!' Ralph called after him. 'You tried to break up my wedding!'

'Pah!' was the only reply. Everyone watched Deadeye leave for a minute, and then turned back to Joseph and Hebe—a far more interesting scene.

'Do you think his actor's drunk?' the Bos'n whispered.

'Undoubtedly,' Buttercup pronounced. The others nodded. As she was the oldest of all of them (aside from, perhaps, Deadeye), her word was taken as gospel.

'Definitely drunk, I see,' Josephine said as she reappeared, skipping to Ralph's side and wrapping her arm around his waist.

'Wouldn't be a performance night if he weren't,' Ralph replied. He placed his hand on Josephine's shoulder and squeezing it lightly.

Hebe stood, shoulders slumping. 'He's implacable,' she sighed. 'Sober him up, boys.' Several crew members seemed to materialise on deck; they grabbed Sir Joseph and carried him over to the rainwater barrel, then dunked him in repeatedly.

'Another performance night,' Corcoran sighed.

'Never a dull moment,' Ralph agreed.

 

***

 

Three hours later, when all performances of Gilbert and Sullivan's _H.M.S. Pinafore, or The Lass Who Loved a Sailor_ had concluded, the characters had their own cast party, siting around a large wooden table on the deck of the ship, all dressed in their Victorian attire as they ate, drank, and swapped war stories of their performances. Four directors had had nervous breakdowns; twenty Josephines had stormed out of rehearsal, and six had nearly flounced out in the middle of a performance; an average of three people per performance had flubbed their lines in a nigh-unfixable way; twelve _Pinafores_ took place in space. The set had fallen down during one of the performances, and someone had nearly plummeted into the orchestra pit in another.

Everyone flickered. Their costumes changed, their makeup shifted, even their faces and hairstyles never stayed the same. Chorus members winked in and out of existence—no two performances had identical-sized choruses—and cross-casting (especially among the sailors) seemed common.

Yet the _Pinafore_ Limbo, as the characters affectionately called it, hadn't always been like this.

As Gilbert had written the operetta into existence, the characters had begun to form on the bare bones of a ship, all with matching backstories and memories. With Sullivan had come the music, and with the D'Oyly Carte had come the faces, costumes, and a full-blown set. And every night, the characters went through the show from beginning to end, as if they were the performers themselves.

As _Pinafore_ increased in popularity and performances began to pop up across England and around the world, ranging from highly professional to grade school amateur, the limbo began to change. Different performances started at different times; different directors had different concepts; and every performance had a different cast, which invented different backstories. Sometimes, Ralph and Josephine had been in love since Josephine was three years old; sometimes, they'd hated each other until two months before the events of the operetta. Occasionally, Buttercup and Ralph had a thing for each other, and Buttercup settled for Corcoran; sometimes, Corcoran and Buttercup had been pining for each other from afar; and sometimes, there had even been a history of threesomes between the bumboat woman and her wards.

The underlying characterisations remained more or less the same, based on the model established by Gilbert in 1878, but small things changed from night to night. Sometimes, Dick Deadeye was passive-aggressive; sometimes, the Bos'n was very gay; and quite often, Sir Joseph could not hold his liquor. From the moment the curtain went up for the first performance of the night to the moment the curtains closed for the last performance, the characters were all at different places at different times, in different costumes, with different thoughts, worries, and experiences. When the final curtain fell, the original cast became the default, though they all retained the memories of the night.

But when the sun rose with the curtain, these memories were wiped clean and replaced by the characters' initial personalities as teenagers and adults alike invoked and influenced the individuals in limbo for yet another performance of the first of Gilbert and Sullivan's 'Big Three.'

The play lived.


End file.
